“But there is such a thing as being neighborly,” Ni went on, undismayed, “an' meanin' things kindly, an' takin' 'em as they're meant.” “Yes, I know them kindly neighbors o' mine!” broke in the farmer with acrid irony, “I've summered 'em an' I've wintered 'em, an' the Lord deliver me from the whole caboodle of 'em! A meaner lot o' cusses never cumbered this foot-stool!” “It takes all sorts o' people to make up a world,” commented this freckled and sandy-headed young philosopher, testing the crimson skin of his apple with a tentative thumb-nail. “Now you ain't got anything in particular agin me, have you?” “Nothin' except your breed,” the farmer admitted. The frown with which he had been regarding Ni had softened just the least bit in the world. “That don't count,” said Ni, with easy confidence. “Why, what does breed amount to, anyway? You ought to be the last man alive to lug _that_ in—you, who've up an' soured on your own breed—your own son Jeff!” I looked to see Abner lift his fork again, and perhaps go even further in his rage. Strangely enough, there crept into his sunburnt, massive face, at the corners of the eyes and mouth, something like the beginnings of a puzzled smile. “You're a cheeky little cuss, anyway!” was his final comment. Then his expression hardened again. “Who put you up to comin' here, an' talkin' like this to me?” he demanded, sternly. “Nobody—hope to die!” protested Ni. “It's all my own spec. It riled me to see you mopin' round up here all alone by yourself, not knowin' what'd become of Jeff, an' makin' b'lieve to yourself you didn't care, an' so givin' yourself away to the whole neighborhood.” “Damn the neighborhood!” said Abner, fervently. “Well, they talk about the same of you,” Ni proceeded with an air of impartial candor. “But all that don't do you no good, an' don't do Jeff no good!” “He made his own bed, and he must lay on it,” said the farmer, with dogged firmness. “I ain't sayin' he mustn't,” remonstrated the other. “What I'm gittin' at is that you'd feel easier in your mind if you knew where that bed was—an' so'd M'rye!” Abner lifted his head. “His mother feels jest as I do,” he said. “He sneaked off behind our backs to jine Lincoln's nigger-worshippers, an' levy war on fellow-countrymen o' his'n who'd done him no harm, an' whatever happens to him it serves him right. I ain't much of a hand to lug in Scripter to back up my argyments—like some folks you know of—but my feelin' is: ‘Whoso taketh up the sword shall perish by the sword!’ An' so says his mother too!” “Hm-m!” grunted Ni, with ostentatious incredulity. He bit into his apple, and there ensued a momentary silence. Then, as soon as he was able to speak, this astonishing boy said: “Guess I'll have a talk with M'rye about that herself.”